


Lover Lay Down

by ArtemisMoonsong



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Asexual Relationship, Fade Tongue, Fluff and Angst, Grey-A, Kissing, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisMoonsong/pseuds/ArtemisMoonsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since The Breach was closed. While everyone else seems to have moved forward, however, Alin Lavellan feels frozen in time, his heart as cold as the winter snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Much We Have Dreamed

_"Lover lay down_  
_Spend this time with me_  
_Walk with me w_ _alk with you_  
_Hold my hand your hands  
_ _So much we have dreamed"_

**  
Chapter 1**

Alin Lavellan had abandoned his own bedroom. It was too cold, too open. Outside Skyhold, the snow blanketed the walkways, the dirt frozen underfoot. Cullen’s old office and the rookery had been abandoned, too, the chill from the harsh high altitude winds too painful to bear. Only the mages managed to maintain their tower. Elsewhere they exhausted themselves maintaining heat spells in the grand hall or the library.

The long hallway that opened into the gardens had finally been renovated, and a great deal of inquisition staff now resided there, each person turning a tiny cell-like bedroom into a home away from home. Alin had simply taken a bundle of things from his old bedroom and resituated them here: the blanket Josephine had helped him select in Val Royeaux; several books, mostly histories and tales as recommended by Dorian, and a few treatises on warfare and government loaned to him by Cullen; a strange picture of a cat Morrigan had claimed Kieran had painted for him. Weapons. Clothing. Boots.

Lately he was spending more and more time in his tiny cell-room.

A lot of people were; it was too cold to get out of bed some days. But then, meals must be served and eaten, fires must be stoked, washing must be done. Maps must be consulted, petitions must be read, nobles must be appeased. Cooks and staff and soldiers handled the former; Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, and Vivienne handled the latter.

They wanted him to join them. They wanted to see him hovering over maps, reading letters, debating over formal invitations. But he politely declined. He preferred to stay in his room where it was warm. He felt small again there. He wasn’t the sort of person who was meant to be big. They still referred to him as “Inquisitor.” But there were no more rifts in the sky. He wore loose pants and a soft red tunic instead of armor. His bow leaned against the corner of his tiny cell-room. He hadn’t fletched an arrow in months.

“You’re depressed!” said Josephine, entering his room to place a plate of hot, freshly-baked cookies on his bedside table. “It’s the weather. You’ll feel better come spring!”

“You shouldn’t sound so cheerful when calling someone depressed,” he said.

“But I am trying to cheer you! We all miss your smiling face, Inquisitor.”

She sat down on the edge of his bed, smoothing her silk pants.

“Cullen has become gloomy again,” she continued. “He says he feels oppressed being the only man in the room.”

“You should invite Dorian to your meetings. He’s clever, and he knows people. He’s good at writing letters.”

“Yes, well… I suppose Lord Pavus _does_ have experience with such things…”

“Cullen likes him, too.”

“I believe he does… But Cassandra, Inquisitor! Were you not always close? She is reluctant to finalize any decision without your input.”

“She was making important decisions before I learned to walk. I’m sure she can handle things well enough without me.”

“Oh, no doubt!” She sighed. “But Lady Vivienne…”

“Josephine,” he cut in, smiling, “You can stop trying to make me feel bad about my friends. Besides, there’s nothing you could say that could convince me that _Vivienne_ of all people misses me.”

She smiled back.

“All right—but she _does_ miss you, you know. We all do.”

He looked down at the book in his hands, his smile fading.

“I know. Thank you.”

They were both silent for a bit, then she leaned over and patted his knee through the bed covers before standing.

“Well! I had best return to the main hall. Lady Celeste and her sister will be beside themselves if I do not join them for dinner this evening. Ah, remind me why I ever agreed to this position! And why did we _ever_ agree to make rooms available for visiting dignitaries? And _why_ must this winter be so long and so cold that dozens of them are stuck at Skyhold until spring?”

“Goodbye, Lady Montilyet,” he said, smiling.

He lost himself in his book again once she left, occasionally reaching for and nibbling on a shortbread cookie. He was going to become fat, always lying about and eating sweets as he was these days. They would have to shove him through the doorways and roll him out into the courtyard just to get some air. He smiled at the silly thought, but nevertheless stopped snacking after the fourth cookie. He wasn’t all that hungry anyway.

“What?” asked Sera, barging into his room an hour or two later. “Cookies for dinner? Not very inquisitorial-like, Your Heraldy-ness!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a Herald anymore, Sera.”

“Course you are!” She flopped down on the overstuffed plush chair across from his bed, the only chair in the room. “That sort of thing doesn’t just disappear, you know.”

He sighed.

“I was never anybody’s Herald to begin with. Even if,” he continued, seeing her face screw up, “Your Andraste _did_ have something to do with what happened to me. I’m not special, and I never was.”

She sighed, her feet sliding forward as she sank into the chair.

“You’re quite boring these days, you know. You used to be so fun. You’d come up to my room, all ‘Sera, let’s go adventuring!’ ‘Sera, let’s go shoot something together!’ ‘We’re the best of friends, aren’t we?’”

“I’m not sure I ever said that _exactly_ ,” he said with a smile.

“What, so we’re not friends any longer?” She huffed. “Fine then! Suits me just perfect. Always thought you were a bit too elfy anyway.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Though I suppose you still don’t want to talk about your face going all clean and pretty, right? Mm, yeah, there’s your eyes going all stormy again and your nose flaring out. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Mr. Elven Glory disappearing soon afterward.”

“That’s enough, Sera,” he said, his teeth grinding the words out. “Perhaps you should go.”

“Oh!” She sat up, sitting forward in her chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Honest, I was just teasing.”

He frowned, looking back down at his book.

“I’m not crying,” he said.

The words were a little blurry now, but he really wasn’t crying. He didn’t cry. A lot of bad things had happened to him in the past two years, but he had yet to sit in a corner and bawl his eyes out like a little child over anything.

“Yeah… course not!” she said. “You just looked a bit misty, that’s all.”

She stood up after a second.

“Look, you should come out more. Stop moping about in your bed.” She seemed to think for a second, then: “They discovered some tunnels below the dungeons. Want to go exploring? Probably discover all _sorts_ of creepy elfy things down there.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m in the middle of my book.”

“All right then.” She still lingered. “Well, I’m cleaning out my room above the tavern tomorrow morning. Moving down here with you lot. I need some help sorting out my things. You’ll help me with _that_ , will you?”

He looked at her, her eyes spearing him down, daring him to deny her.

“Yes, all right,” he said with a sigh, a smile eventually teasing its way out. “I’ll help you.”

“Right then.” She gave a decisive nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The remainder of the evening passed uneventfully. He thought about going to get dinner, but he never did feel all that hungry. Eventually, he ate three more cookies before blowing the lights out and dampening the fire for the night.

But his sleep was restless. Sometime after midnight, he finally got up, dressed, and threw on his heaviest cloak. He thought about walking the ramparts, but he had little desire to contend with such bone-chilling cold. He lit a lamp and walked the heavy stone hallways instead, peeking into abandoned rooms, hallways still under construction, or just listening to the snores on the other side of this or that door, or the footsteps of lonely, patrolling guardsmen and women. He wondered what they dreamt of. What the guards were thinking about.

“She’s thinking about her husband,” said a voice beside him. “He died in the war.”

“Cole,” he said, sighing. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

He sat down on a nearby bench, listening to the sound of the guard’s footsteps gradually fade away. After a moment, Cole sat down beside him.

“You’re going to run away,” said the other young man.

 Even in the glow of the lamplight, Alin couldn’t see his face. It was obscured as always behind the large floppy hat he seemed to favor.

 “I’m not going to run away,” he replied. “I’m not a child, Cole.”

 “Oh. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re going to—trembling, tired, terrified—you hide because you’re afraid. And you don’t like feeling afraid.”

 “I should bring you along the next time anyone insists I’m still the Herald of Andraste. You can read my thoughts now, can you?”

 Cole lowered his head. “Yes. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. But I—

 “You want to help. Yes, I know.”

 They were both silent for a long time, Cole surprisingly not offering to voice anymore insight into his innermost thoughts.

 “I’m thinking of leaving, yes,” he said after awhile. “I don’t really serve a purpose any longer. And even when I did…”

 “But we’re your friends,” Cole insisted. “That’s your purpose. You make us happy.”

 He swallowed, smiling a little.

 “I wish that were enough. I really do.”

 But it wasn’t. It should have been, and he was grateful to them all, he truly was. But it wasn’t enough.

 “Have you picked out a room for yourself?” he asked after a few minutes of silence had passed.

 “Yes,” said Cole. “And I’ve learned to sleep. But I’m afraid to dream. I’m afraid I’ll get lost in the Fade and never find my way home again.” 

 He hesitated.

 “I… I wish Solas were here,” he said, his voice apologetic. “He could help me. Show me how not to be afraid.”

 “Yes. He was good at that, wasn’t he?”

 Cole nodded silently.

 After a few more minutes, Alin stood up.

 “Shall I walk you back to your room? I’d like to see it. That way I’ll know where to find you when I want to visit you.”

 “All right.”

 He thought he caught a smile under that large hat as the other young man stood up beside him. They walked back together, the cold walls of Skyhold not quite feeling as dark and foreboding as they had a moment ago, when he thought he was alone.

 


	2. And You Weep

_Oh please oh please_  
_Oh please lover lay down_  
_And you weep_  
_Lover lay down_  
_Because it's over_

**Chapter 2**

The weeks passed by.

Very little changed. The snow fell heavier one day, lighter the next. The sky would clear for three days straight, only to be heavy with clouds the following morning. Gradually, though, the temperature began to rise. Green things began to bloom in the garden. The great hall was rarely empty, even between meals, people chatting or drinking or playing card games. Cullen had the newest recruits clear the training yards, and soon the sounds of clashing swords and butting shields rang out in the outer courtyard once again.

He watched it all and retreated back to his room.

His friends continued to visit. Dorian left a chess board in here now; they played several times a week. Cullen, too, once he found out about it. Josephine came by daily just after lunch to fill him in on all the gossip, which nobles had arrived or left, who was going to marry whom. Cassandra updated him on the recently elected Divine Victoria, who occasionally wrote to him, the cutest little doodles of nugs dotting her letters. Sera at times resorted to dragging him bodily outside. They explored the aforementioned tunnels below the dungeons together. He felt so tired afterward. And not because he was getting fat from too many cookies—if anything, he had lost weight. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat or childishly refused his dinner. He just wasn’t hungry. He would sit down and force himself to eat, sliding bits of bread or apple between his teeth and swallowing resolutely. He felt very foolish about it and pretend no one noticed. But he knew everyone noticed.

“Love is a disease, my dear,” Vivienne told him one afternoon. “It will kill you if you let it.”

But he wasn’t dying. That only happened in the novels Varric loaned him. He did think about it, sometimes. He stood on the ramparts outside Cullen’s office and stared down at the ground far below. Or he went down to the still-frozen river that lay at Skyhold’s feet and tried to peer below its silent, inky depths. It would be very quick, he imagined. The cold alone would do the trick.

You see, Vivienne, he thought, watching a fish move slowly beneath the ice. Grief doesn’t kill people. People kill people.

How many people had he killed since coming here?

Alin the Hunter was a decent shot. He smiled with the rest of the hunting party, coming home at the end of the day, a deer strung up and a slew of grouse and rabbits hanging from their belts. He rarely made the killing shot.

Inquisitor Lavellan went where he was needed. He defended his friends and the men and women who pledged their loyalty to him. He coughed and staggered forward when Bull pounded him on the back after shooting his first “vint.” They are not my brothers and sisters any longer, Cassandra said, as they dodged and carved through screaming, howling red templars.

He remembered the horror he felt, bile creeping up his throat as he watched Sera kick her boot into the broken face of Lord Pel Harmond. He was so naïve. He would always be naïve.

_“You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another life…”_

He choked on a sob in the back of his throat.

“Why not this one?” he whispered into the cold air. “Why not this one? Why not…?”

Each question brought him closer to the ground until he knelt down, knees pressing into the hard rock, back bent over as he wept. The tears filled his mouth, his throat, his lungs, suffocating him. He wished they would kill him. They fell until his head began to hurt, his chest heaving. It does no good, he thought. What does it solve? Still he wept, his palms now pressed against the cold, slippery rock, hard pebbles scraping at his faded callouses. He watched the tears slide off the tip of his nose and splatter below. They’ll not freeze, he thought. They’re made of salt. They can’t freeze.

He didn’t stay much longer. It was still too cold. He huddled for a time under his cloak, crouched down on his heels, watching the fish move beneath the ice. He blinked, his eyes feeling heavy. He was tired, and his head hurt. He was always tired these days.

Gradually, he stood and straightened. The hike back up to Skyhold was perilous, but he had time. There was a quicker, safer way, a passage up through the mountain itself, where one could ultimately emerge from a door leading into the main courtyard. But he would meet fewer people this way.

That evening, he surprised his friends by dining in the great hall.

“At last he joins us!” said Varric, a big smile on his face as he sat down opposite him.

“Indeed,” said Dorian, taking a seat beside him. “And looking handsome as ever, fresh face ready for spring no doubt.”

Alin smiled, his eyes still resting on his own plate. “You’re a terrible liar, Dorian.”

“But I’m not lying! Oh, you’re a little on the pale and malnourished side, I’ll grant you. But it’s nothing a bit of exercise and a few hearty meals won’t cure.”

“You heard him, Freckles. Eat up.” Varric lifted his glass. “To fresh-faced, happy, and handsome inquisitors.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Dorian, raising his own glass with a twinkling smile.

Alin snorted, the sound little more than a faint puff of breath. But he smiled a little, too, and lifted his glass, though not as high as his friends.

Others joined them. Cullen sat down with a heavy groan, complaining of an injury one of the new recruits had given him. _I’d rather face a veteran than some of these wildly-swinging infants_ , he said. Varric teased him for the amount of food he’d piled onto his plate, while Dorian declared he wouldn’t flirt with him any longer if he got fat. Cassandra sat down soon afterward, then Sera, then Blackwall. They traded stories about their day, stories of training in the crisp, cold mountain air; of pranking the hard-working servants and barely escaping with their lives; of working in the armory all day and learning a new technique from one of the blacksmiths. When Cole tentatively sat down towards the end of the bench, Blackwall gave him a firm pat on the back and told him to eat up; he was never going to meet any girls looking as skinny as he was.

Their voices blended together, each warm, friendly face looking much like the one next to it. They were happy. Even the ones who’d once felt like they didn’t belong here. Even the ones who’d either left or thought about leaving and had to be convinced to return or stay. They’d made this place their home, for ill or naught.

“I’m thinking of leaving,” he finally said.

The chatter had already died down somewhat, but it lulled completely for a moment, all of those warm faces now turning towards his own. The sad concern in their eyes made him feel so guilty.

“We thought as much,” said Varric.

Alin met his eyes. He knew the older man had seen grief in his time, known hardship and heartache. But he’d never run away from his problems. He’d said goodbye to old friends and old loves and carried on with his work. And he often did it all with a smile and a wink and a cheerful word for those around him.

 _I should be more like that_. But he couldn’t. He’d tried.

“Out of the question,” said Cullen, shaking his head. “It’s too dangerous right now. You’d die of frostbite within a week. I realize it’s frustrating, inquisitor, being cooped up here; we all feel it. Perhaps in a few months, after the frost thaws, we might venture down to the valley below, perhaps even to Orlais.”

“I wouldn’t mind a brush with civilization,” agreed Dorian, winking.

“In the meantime, perhaps we might scout the surrounding area,” suggested Cassandra. “Our stores are getting low. If we are careful, it would not be too dangerous.”

“Sounds like a fine plan,” said Blackwall. “Been feeling a bit soft around the edges myself lately.”

“Oh, just sod _off_ it already!”

Startled, they all turned to look at Sera, the light conversation dying down immediately.

She glared back at everyone. “He ain’t feeling soft, and he don’t want to go shopping in Orlais or go hunting for food to pass the bloody time! And we all know it, so just stop it!”

Alin looked down at his plate. The potato he’d been served lay split open, steam long since gone, butter melted into the now hardening folds of its meat. Thawed and roasted vegetables had gone equally cold. The grilled slice of venison stared up at him, untouched. Even his food seemed disappointed in him.

“At least try to eat a little more before you go,” said Varric, his voice softened with concern. “We wouldn’t want you to waste away before you’re halfway down the mountain.”

He swallowed and nodded. It was good advice. Despite his lack of appetite, he ought to try to eat. It was foolish not to.

He picked up his fork, breathed out heavily, and cut into the meat.

“I will accompany you for a few days,” Cassandra said. “At least until we have reached the valley below.”

It was not a suggestion.

“Where will you go?” asked Blackwall. “Not too many places around here where you’ll not be recognized.”

“Home,” he answered. “To Wycome, I suppose. I’m sure the Keeper will be glad to see me.”

Sera snorted. “Maybe not when she sees what’s happened to your face.”

He reached a hand up without thinking, fingertips brushing against his forehead. Mythal’s mark. Once he could trace it without even looking in a mirror, his eyes closed. He could feel her presence in his heart, the closeness guiding him.

Now his heart felt empty.

“I don’t understand,” said Cassandra, breaking the silence that had fallen after Sera’s second outburst. “Why would he do this to you? If he loved you…”

“I asked him to,” he said. His own voice sounded very distant, as if he were both near and far at the same time. “They’re slave markings. He told me. He didn’t wish to hurt me by telling me, but I…”

He trailed off, unable to finish. Not sure what to say, how to explain to them how much the newfound knowledge had hurt. Here they were surrounded by their god and his champion; the priests cried out the Chant of Light in the garden at all hours of the day, gladdening and strengthening the hearts of the people. But his gods were silent. They had always been silent. And the faint connection he had always imagined himself having with the one he chose to follow had been a lie.

_“So this is just one more thing the Dalish got wrong!”_

_“Don’t say that. For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right. They made you…”_

It felt as if a fist had closed itself around his heart, squeezing ever tighter. His chest constricted, his breath coming harder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He set the knife and fork down carefully before rising. “I need to be alone.”

He turned and left, ignoring the curious eyes of those nearest their table. He knew none of his friends would follow. Oh, Cole would try to, but the others would pull him back down. _Not right now, kid. Maybe later, but not right now._

He returned to his old room—not the tiny cell-room, but the room he’d slept in and lived in for the past two or so years. It was cold, the fire not having been built up and stoked for days. It looked bare and uncomforting, the bed devoid of sheets, the desk and bookshelves empty. A gust of wind forced itself through from the balcony, ruffling the heavy drapes.

He pushed the drapes aside, stepping out onto the balcony. He had come here, that night following the battle, while the others still reveled and laughed and ate. The sun had been just beginning to rise: the dawn of a new day, the first day in months when the surrounding land lay free from the influence of one who had once considered himself a god. He should have slept soundly, overcome by exhaustion after all that he and his friends had done to triumph that day. But his sleep had proved fitful. And all his dreams were shadowed with grief and regret.

* * *

A week later, he stood in the outer courtyard, holding the bridle of a great hart with one gloved hand, his other hand stroking its soft nose. The animal gazed down at him with its large liquid brown eyes, ears flicking forward and backward. Its back was laden with supplies.

“I should have asked Master Dennet your name,” he murmured, smiling and trailing his fingers up its forehead, scratching between its eyes. “Shall I call you Hanal'ghilan? We’ll find a new path together…”

The jangle of tack and the sound of an approaching horse made him look up, Cassandra’s eyes meeting his.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

He nodded.

She nodded back.

“Good. We had best be on our way before the others… ah. Maker.” She muttered the curse under her breath. “I see we are too late.”

Alin turned back towards Skyhold, an unbidden smile coming to his face as he saw several familiar figures hurrying towards them.

“Trying to sneak off without saying goodbye?” puffed Blackwall. “What an ungrateful little scamp, you are.”

Next was Dorian, hurrying down the stone steps leading up to Cullen’s office, his hand around the commander’s wrist, pulling the man after him.

“Ahh, there you are!” cried the mage, a huge smile on his face. “Thought you might still be here.

Cullen snatched his hand back once they had come to a stop, huffing under his breath and straightening his armor. He breathed in before his eyes met Alin’s, their gazes holding for a moment, a smile finally coming to the older man’s lips.

Soon they were all there. Sera rushing forward to give him an unexpected hug. Varric, Blackwall, Dorian, and Cullen shaking his hand firmly, the latter surprising him with a brief but heartfelt hug. Vivienne offered him her hand as well. Last was Josephine, her own hands holding a rich, plush cloak around her shoulders, her hair in a hastily set bun.

She smiled, the expression full of warmth.

“ _Dareth shiral_ , inquisitor,” she said, before bowing her head.

As if on cue, the others all did the same, bowing in unison. Alin felt his heart turn over in his chest before beating faster and harder, his eyes widening. He blinked, his suddenly blurry vision quickly clearing.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” he said, feeling his throat catch as he said the words.

They all straightened, faces beaming with affection. He couldn’t look at them; they were too bright. He knew they wanted him to stay. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, and they knew, and they wished him well, for all it broke their hearts to do so.

He finally turned, grasped the hart’s bridle again, and began making his way across the bridge. Beside him, Cassandra did the same, the horse plodding along beside her. The wind whipped across the mountains, pressing their hoods against their cheeks, cloaks flattening against their sides. The cold chilled the brief warmth in his heart.

The snow began to fall almost as soon as they reached the end of the bridge. It kept falling until sometime around noon. Even then, the sun was barely visible beneath the heavy folds of cloud that blanketed the sky. They paused to eat something before continuing down the mountain. The only thing that passed between them was a canteen of water, the item magically charmed to withstand the cold so that the contents wouldn’t freeze. They did not speak.

Cassandra stayed with him for three days. At night they built a fire and huddled around it together, even sharing a pair of blankets. One night he sang her every song he could remember, the elven words tripping lightly, painfully off his tongue. Another night she regaled him with tales of both victory and defeat on the battlefield, and of her exploits as the Divine’s Right Hand. She spoke of her devotion to Justinia, the unease she confessed to always feeling around Leliana, though she supported her wholeheartedly. He asked her about Varric, and if she were truly angry with him. No, she said, the admission coming with apparent ease—but then, it had been some time since the Champion of Kirkwall had revealed himself at Skyhold. She had been more hurt than angry. Ultimately, however, she understood Varric’s desire to protect his friend. These things were easy to forgive in hindsight, she said, after the war had been won and all had been set right again.

“Varric has a love,” he said, filling the quiet that had gradually filled the small space between them. “Did you know? Her name is Bianca.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I know. He told me.”

“Did he?”

That was surprising. It was not a thing the man had ever seemed particularly willing to discuss. And that he had told Cassandra, of all people…

“She has asked him to wait for far too long now,” she said. “It is her loss, and her cowardice.”

He wondered at the meaning behind those final words (for they lapsed into silence afterward, and eventually settled down for sleep). Was she confirming that things were finally over and done with between the erstwhile lovers? If so, how could she be so assured?

The following morning they said their goodbyes. Cassandra was to meet a returning scout, and the two would travel back to Skyhold together. From here on out, Alin would be on his own.

They didn’t hug or shed tears or even shake hands.

“Be well, Inquisitor,” she simply said.

“And you, Seeker,” he replied.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding and turning away, leading her horse towards the forking path on the right. Alin watched her for a while before tugging the hart leftwards with him. It gave a bellow or two, unhappy about separating from its companion.

“Don’t worry,” he assured it, rubbing its soft nose. “You may see her again someday.”

But his words felt hollow, and even if the hart could have understood him, he felt it would not have believed him.

The days became long, silent, and meaningless. He kept his own pace, rediscovering his muscles and the flow of air in his lungs, the beating of his heart. The cold wind brought glimpses of what lay beyond. At one point in his life he could have smelled an animal before he saw it. That sense would return; he felt it in his blood. He was Dalish, after all.

He never came anywhere near a city or town, and he skirted any village he came across. Most would not recognize him. But a lone elf traveling through the mountains would be an easy target. He had no warrior to stand stolidly by his side, no mage to cast spells of protection or defense. He would not even be identified as Dalish. He would be seen as a wandering city elf, a foolish soul who ventured out beyond his alienage, hoping for the best, never knowing to expect the worst.

He left the mountains behind, the surrounding air now heavier and warmer. He began to travel longer into the night, the stars serving as far more reliable guides than the lone sun. Sleep came just before dawn, and he would awaken just past noon. Once he lay still, his eyes snapping open, the musky scent of a bear overpowering his senses. The creature snuffled about only several yards away. Once it was gone, it took him hours to track down the hart. “You could have warned me,” he said, soothing it gently, fingertips tickling its cheeks. It nuzzled his face, warm, moist breath puffing against his skin.

Humans were easier to avoid. They were loud, brush crunching beneath their boots, laughter and insults ringing in the air around them. Only the hunters were silent. They traveled alone and did well to cover their tracks. Once he awoke with a bundle having been nestled near him, under a cloak. It contained dried fish and meats, bread, and cheese. Do I look that skinny? he wondered. The cheese tasted like heaven, especially when smeared against the bread. Pity for a lost elf, he realized. No more vallaslin meant more compassion from kind-hearted humans.

If there were ever any Dalish nearby, he did not see them. They would have been friendly towards a traveling brother, but a runaway city elf might very well evoke contempt rather than pity. Some clans welcomed so-called flat eared elves from the city. Others put an arrow through their hearts and considered doing so an act of pity. His clan had been in the former camp; he had grown up hearing of life in the alienage or in the big house, and several of his close friends, now fellow hunters, had received their vallaslin late in life. But not all clans were the same. Just to be safe, he avoided traveling too deeply into the forest, just as he avoided traveling too closely to civilization. It made for lonely going, but it was the safest way to travel.

Then one evening he realized he was being followed.

He sat down to eat his lunch, the sun just beginning to dip down past the horizon. The hart was grazing nearby, its bob of a tail swishing back and forth. He was leaning back against a tree, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his arm resting there as he chewed contently on a piece of bread and dried meat. By now, he felt the forest had accepted him. Animals paid him little mind, save to give him a wide birth should he prove to be a threat. It was only when he got the sense that he was being watched that he realized something was wrong.

This lasted for the next three days. At first he thought a great bear or mountain cat was stalking him, but no—it must be a person. He could sense the careful, thoughtful observation, the deliberate pauses in movement, a hasty crouch behind a rock outcropping. Sometimes the feeling of being observed would wander; he would wonder if whoever it was had disappeared, as he could no longer sense their presence. But it would always return, as if the person had given themselves a shake and a reminder as to why they were here.

Finally, one evening, he simply stopped. He sensed more than heard the startled pause behind him—far closer than it had ever been before.

“Go home, Cole,” he said. He turned around to face the empty forest behind him. “Go back to Skyhold.”

The young man with the floppy hat took a halting step forward, his body materializing between two trees, the leaves rustling underfoot. “But… you’re sad!”

Alin sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Sometimes people are just sad. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“But—!”

“Cole, go home,” he repeated.

“But you aren’t even traveling to Wycome! Sometimes you’re going there, but then you aren’t any longer. A week ago you even started going east.” He tilted his chin up, revealing wide, gray eyes beneath the broad brim of his hat. “You aren’t going anywhere, and you never meant to!”

Startled, he opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He closed it again, his lips pressing together.

“I think I preferred it when you couldn’t read me,” he finally said.

Cole sighed heavily, sitting down on a downed tree. “I know. I’m sorry.”

After a moment, he came and sat down beside him. He searched carefully for the right words to say, not wanting to upset the young man beside him. But Cole would know if he were lying. That was the hard part.

“I know you want to help me,” he said. “But there’s only so much you can do, Cole. It’s just… I think I have to help myself. It’s time I stop relying on my friends to make everything better again.”

“But we _want_ to help you,” Cole insisted. “We want you to rely on us!”

Alin laughed a little. “You say that. But it becomes a burden after a while, having someone like me around all the time.” His heard his voice lower, become less steady. “I’m broken, Cole. And I have to figure out how to fix myself.”

They were both silent, the sound of songbirds dying down around them, insects and small, squeaking things rising to reclaim the night air.

“It’s… because of him,” said Cole. “Isn’t it?”

Alin sighed. “Maybe,” he said, speaking around the sudden knot in his throat. “That, and other things.”

He reached up to touch his forehead, fingers unconsciously tracing invisible lines. He supposed they were all related, his problems. He realized that despite the depression, the self-seclusion, the countless hours spent in bed, shut up and away from everyone, that he had yet to really examine what was wrong with him. It can’t be just because of him, he thought. It can’t be.

It can’t be.

He felt a cool hand cover his own. You’re part human now, he wanted to tell the young man beside him. You don’t have to care so much. You’re a person, just like me. You can be selfish. You don’t have to give comfort when it isn’t asked for.

Instead, he stood up, pulling his hand away.

“I should get going,” he said. “I still have another eight hours or so before settling down. You can come with me,” he added after a moment, “if you like.”

“All right,” said Cole, standing up quickly beside him. He’d never heard the gloomy young man sound so cheerful before.

Cole didn’t force him to keep talking, though he no longer hid himself. He walked alongside Alin, his footsteps just as light, hardly stirring the earth at all. The hart didn’t seem to mind his presence. Occasionally, he talked about something he had done, how he’d helped someone, or when he’d watched someone from afar—Sera pulling a prank on Cassandra, or Varric quietly writing love letters when he thought no one else was watching.

“Writing love letters to whom?” Alin asked, despite himself. “Cassandra said it was over between him and Bianca.”

“I’m not supposed to say,” said Cole. If he didn’t know him better, he’d have suspected something impish in the other young man’s reply.

That night, they built up a small fire, and he shared his food with his impromptu traveling companion. When it came time to settle down, he had to apologize to Cole for having only one bedroll.

“It’s not even big enough for us to share,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Cole. “I don’t need to sleep.”

He sat down between a pile of roots, his back against the tree behind him. His hat obscured his eyes, but Alin could see that he was smiling. He shook his head before turning away, lying down on the spread out bedroll and pulling the blanket up over him. Sleep was rarely a comfort these days, save that it signaled the end of another day. But at least he no longer had to worry about being ambushed while he slept.


	3. Sleep I Would Inside Your Mouth

_"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head_  
_Slip into my lover's hands_  
_Kiss me won't you kiss me now_  
_And sleep I would inside your mouth"_

**Chapter 3**

When his eyes next opened, he knew in an instant that something wasn’t right.

He sat up, the blanket sliding off him. The forest was the same—the same rocks, the same trees, the same sky. But the spot where Cole was supposed to be sitting was vacant. And a haze lay over the forest, as if a mist had settled down. An incongruous wind rustled the leaves and brushed his too long hair over his eyes, tickling his nose.

 _A dream_. Birds called to one another, but they were far off, their voices dimmed by the distance. The trees swayed in the wind, and the air seemed to shift with them.

He stood up. He was already dressed, his boots tied on, a hunting knife strapped to his belt. His bow lay where he had left it, leaning against his pack. The hart, like Cole, was nowhere to be seen.

He started walking. His hands brushed against the trunks of the trees as he passed them. It was warm, he realized, as if winter were a thing long since passed.

The sound of falling water drew him deeper into the forest. Deer and halla paused and stared at him, their ears flicking lazily back and forth, noses twitching. A fennec trotted across the path before him, its bushy tail dragging in the dirt behind it. The birds were closer now—bright flashes of color, flitting from one branch to another, songs like a million tiny bells filling the forest air.

He came to a clearing, the trees falling back. There was the waterfall, the spray hitting his face even from this distance. It fell into a cool, clear lake, so clear he could peer down into the depths until the water faded into the deepest, darkest blue. He had an urge to crouch down and dip his fingers in those cool depths, so he did.

“It’s beautiful. Is it not?

He stood up and turned around, his right hand resting instinctively on his knife.

Then, for a brief second, it seemed as if time had stopped.

“—Solas!” he finally breathed.

“Vhenan,” came the gentle reply.

A thousand words jumped towards the tip of his tongue. Angry words, spiteful words—words of regret and sorrow and despair. But nothing emerged. Instead, he looked at Solas, his heart rattling in his chest, and in his mind’s eyes he raced forward to pound his fists into the man’s chest, scream incoherent rage. And in the next moment, none of those things happened; he stepped forward, his lover’s arms folding around him, his own doing the same. There were no tears, but his breath was muffled, pressing against the other man’s collarbone. He begged his indifferent gods to stay his sobs.

To say he had given up hope of ever seeing Solas again would not have been completely true. There had been something final in their last words to one another—as final as that awful night by the lake. But since that moment, he had had days, weeks, months even, to imagine Solas returning to him. Deep down, he hadn’t truly believed it would happen. But hope had always remained. And hope for the impossible left only despair for the inevitable.

Until now.

“This…” he finally asked, not quite raising his head yet, “This is a dream, isn’t it?” His fingers curled absently inward, fisting the other man’s tunic.

“We are in the Fade. Yes.”

He felt the arms around him loosen slightly, and he straightened, their eyes meeting.

“Ma vhenan'ara,” the older man murmured, and he felt his hand come up to cup his cheek, fingertips gently stroking his skin. Alin brought his own hand up, resting it over his lover’s, their fingers eventually entwining.

“Ma vhenan sulahn ma,” he said. He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice. He knew he couldn’t, because he could see the pain and regret in Solas’s green eyes.

“How is this possible?” he asked, stepping back again and looking around them. The waterfall was still there, the lake, the animals, the forest. It was a dream, but it was a beautiful dream. He looked at Solas. “Are you near? Have you been following me?”

The older man sighed. “No, vhenan. I am not near.”

“But this is your doing? You created all this?”

“Yes.”

Alin blinked. “For me?”

“…Yes.”

They were both silent for a moment. That Solas had created all of this, arranged it so that they could meet here and be together—he wasn’t sure whether he should feel happy or angry. After all, he was standing beside the man who had left him without cause or explanation over a year ago.

“Come,” Solas finally said. “Walk with me. We are here together. We might as well enjoy this place together.”

He reached for Alin’s hand, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Alin took it.

They walked silently together for what could have been anything from a few minutes to a few hours. The passage of time felt muffled here—this place where, despite the warm sun shining down above them, their bodies cast no shadows. Before meeting Solas, he would have been horrified to be trapped in such a place. But he wasn’t afraid of the Fade anymore, not even after what happened at Adamant. It was a dangerous place, but it wasn’t consciously malicious. And a skilled and powerful mage—an intelligent mage as well, one who knew how to rein in his basest desires—could manipulate it with ease.

They came to a pause within a clearing, the land dropping off below as the cliff face descended into an equally bucolic valley. The wind ruffling his hair and clothes smelled of spices—marjoram, patchouli, and lavender. Just like the sticks of incense Josephine had once gifted him from her homeland.

“What are you thinking?” asked the man standing next to him.

He gazed out at the verdant valley below. “This doesn’t look like Antiva,” he said after a while.

Solas chuckled. He always liked to hear him laugh, but even more, to be the source of his amusement.

“And how would you know what Antiva looks like?” came the amused reply.

He felt a smile tug at his lips. “…I suppose I don’t.”

There was a lot he didn’t know. That’s why they’d made themselves his advisors. That’s why they pulled him aside and talked to him about laws and customs and politics. It’s why Josephine agreed to teach him to dance, Dorian appointed himself his temporary partner, and Vivienne voluntarily critiqued their efforts. _“Stand up straight, my dear. Or else you’ll look like you belong in the kitchens.”_

“Maybe I do belong in the kitchens,” he murmured.

He felt more than saw Solas giving him a queer look. Before the man could say anything, though, he turned to face him.

“Solas,” he said, their eyes meeting and holding. “…Why are you here?”

The older man frowned before lowering his own eyes. “Because I wished to see you again. I…hoped against hope that you would feel the same.”

“I do feel the same. I thought I’d never—” But his voice caught in his throat before he could finish. He, too, looked away.

“I thought I would never see you again,” he continued after a moment. His voice, at least, sounded steady to his ears again. “When you left… Leliana said you might come back… I knew you wouldn’t. But I pretended that I thought you would. For their sakes. Because they knew how much your leaving had hurt me, only they didn’t realize how much—”

The knot returned, the words getting stuck in his throat. He looked down, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth to breathe, but all that came was a sob. He pulled his hand free and covered his face, ashamed, embarrassed—grief-struck in the realization that this was not a true reunion. That he would awake and be alone again. That the man he ought to hate more than anyone in the world yet instead loved in equal measure—would be gone, again, this time perhaps forever.

He felt his lover’s arms wrap around him, his back pressing close to the other man’s chest.

“I’m so… so very sorry,” said Solas. The whispered words enraged him with their sadness.

“Why did you let me fall in love with you?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I knew it was wrong, but I—I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stop what was happening.”

“But you did stop it,” he said, his voice low. He ground his teeth together before turning around to face the other man. “You told me it was over. You walked away from me. You left me there, alone!”

Solas looked pained beyond bearing. “I had to. I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice!”

The angry retort seemed to startle them both. He stood still within his lover’s semi-embrace, Solas looking down at him (even here he was taller, though the difference in height was not remarkable) with widened green eyes. They’d never raised their voices at one another before. They both shared even temperaments.

He lifted his chin then and leaned in, kissing the other man.

He felt the arms around him tighten, but only for a second.

“No,” Solas murmured against his lips, “We shouldn’t…”

“You can’t say that,” he said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “You can’t say that and bring me here!”

Solas held him back though, placing both hands gently on his shoulders so as to keep some distance between their bodies. Alin stared at him, panting, searching the other man’s sad green eyes for the answers he didn’t seem to want to give.

“It’s my fault,” Solas said, his voice breaking a little. “I should not have brought you here. This… was a mistake.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because—if you knew what I was, what I truly am—”

“Then don’t tell me. I don’t need to know, Solas. I just want to be with you!”

That seemed to surprise the other man. The grip on his shoulders loosened, Solas’s hands sliding from his shoulders down to his elbows. Alin took his hands in his, squeezing their fingers together and giving him what he hoped was his most determined look.

“I just want to be with you,” he repeated.

Solas sighed, a small smile coming to his face.

“You have no idea what you ask of me, da’len. But,” he continued before Alin could protest, “It is wrong of me to treat you as if you do not know your own heart. Furthermore…” He brought his hand up to cup Alin’s cheek again, his eyes sparkling ever so slightly. “I cannot pretend I don’t enjoy kissing you.”

Alin swallowed, his eyes lowering to the older man’s mouth as they leaned towards one another once more.

“And I do believe you enjoy being kissed,” his lover murmured, just before their lips brushed together again. His eyes slid closed, his arms encircling the older man’s neck while Solas’s fell to his waist.

He _did_ love kissing. It was a weakness of his, one he was happy to let Solas exploit. His mouth opened readily to the other man’s, the feel of his tongue slipping in, massaging his own, sending shivers down his spine.

He felt comfortably warm all over, enough to pause and remove his belt before pulling his tunic up over his head. After a moment, they lay down, the soft grass cool against the skin of his bare back. Solas lay beside him, hovering over him, one hand gently caressing his side as they continued to kiss.

“I want…” he panted against the other man’s lips. “I want to feel you. I want to be as close to you as I can.”

“As you wish,” Solas murmured.

He helped the man remove his furs and robes until they were both in just their breeches and lying skin to skin. Alin closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of his beloved’s heart beating so close against his own. He felt his lover’s kisses begin to pepper the rest of his face, over his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose—that last one making him smile. He opened his eyes and tilted his head up, recapturing Solas’s lips. He felt a little guilty, unable to not feel how aroused his lover was at this point, and even the sheer physical contact was arousing his own body as well.

“Do you want more?” he asked.

“Only if you do,” came the breathy response.

He didn’t. He just wanted to lie here, the two of them together, and pretend none of this would ever end. So he did. They kissed for some time, until finally Solas lay back with a sigh. He lay beside him, curling up against him, his hand resting on his chest. His fingers played with the exotic jawbone the other man always wore, the texture rough and hard. He knew not to ask questions—Solas didn’t want to answer, so he didn’t wish to know.

“May I ask you something, vhenan?”

He could feel his voice vibrating through his chest, the sensation bringing a smile to his face.

“Yes,” he said.

Solas was quiet for a moment, as though trying to gather his thoughts.

“You are not at Skyhold,” he finally said. “Why?”

It wasn’t a question he was expecting to be asked. For a moment, he was briefly angry; he was weary of being asked this same thing—for it _was_ the same thing. Why was he leaving? Why was he so unhappy? Why wouldn’t he let anyone help him?

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I just couldn’t stay there any longer.”

“I never noticed that you were unhappy there. You seemed… preoccupied, at least. As if you had a purpose.”

He frowned. “I _did_ have a purpose. I don’t anymore. No one needs a Herald of Andraste once the Rift in the sky has been closed.”

Solas chuckled. “Ah, yes. The Herald of Andraste. And you do not even believe.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe. _They_ believed. That was enough, I guess. As for Andraste, I don’t know if she was real or not, if she really served the Maker. If there even _is_ a Maker. But it didn’t really matter in the end.”

“You’re very open-minded for a Dalish.”

“I’m not. You just don’t seem to think very highly of us.”

“That is more true than I am comfortable admitting.”

The conversation lulled, and he was relieved not to be questioned any further. He closed his eyes, breathing in the spicy air. But he could feel it returning, despite how happy he wished to be right now—the sadness, creeping back in, seeping into his bones.

“I don’t belong anywhere anymore,” he said, breaking the silence between them. Solas was quiet, allowing him to go on, if he wished.

He rolled onto his back, blinking, staring up at the hazy sky. It isn’t even real, he thought. But it had been created for him. It was beautiful.

“I can’t return to my clan,” he continued. “Even if they accept me, it won’t feel right. I’ve… grown too much. I’m not the same person I was when I left.”

“That is to be expected,” Solas said, his voice rather gentle.

“And I can’t stay at Skyhold because—”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know how. “I don’t belong there” wasn’t enough anymore. He was starting to feel like a child, wondering idly if his friends had begun to see him in that way as well. Hiding out in his room, refusing to eat, unable to return their smiles—a sulky, spoiled child.

“I imagine each of them has changed as well,” Solas said. “Each of them has lost something, something that made them who they are. Cassandra is no longer a seeker, or at least, her order is no longer what it once was. Cullen is no longer a templar. Vivienne has lost her position and can never get it back. Even the Iron Bull has had to turn his back on his people.”

“He has the Chargers,” Alin pointed out. “They’re like a family to him. I’ve always envied him that,” he admitted.

“Have you?”

He watched the clouds dance slowly across the sky above. He realized what Solas was doing. It seemed unfair. Because since becoming Tal-Vashoth Bull had never been the same and probably never would be. He imagined sometimes that even the Chargers were not enough. Nothing ever would be.

But they were all he had.

“So… you’re saying I’ll never be truly happy again,” he said. He blinked, willing away his blurry vision. He was twenty-four years old—far past the acceptable age for the amount of tears he’d shed these past few weeks.

The low chuckle made him blink and look over at the man beside him. Solas shifted to face him, half-sitting up, leaning on his elbow as he smiled down at him.

“Do you think that is what I am telling you?” he asked. He reached over to gently run his fingers through Alin’s hair, pushing the too-long strands behind one ear.

“No,” Alin replied, but he felt unsure.

Solas laughed again, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, da'vhenan,” he murmured, his fingers stroking through Alin’s hair again.

The endearment made him blush—a sensation he didn’t know was possible in the Fade.

“Why do you bother with me if I’m so little and silly,” he said. He must have looked quite the grump, as Solas was having more and more difficulty refraining from laughter.

“Your friends care for you,” his lover said, finally sobering. “That is all I’m trying to help you see. You may never be the person you were before again. But that is as it should be, for you cannot travel through time, nor can anyone else. Growth is a part of life, da’len. In longing for the past, you are trying to escape who you have become.”

“But I don’t know who I’ve become,” Alin said. “I don’t know who I am anymore!”

‘Do you not? Who is the man lying beside me now? What does he want? What are his hopes and dreams? What lies within his heart?”

Alin was silent, the questions momentarily stumping him, particularly the last one. But not for long.

“You are in my heart,” he said. He felt himself blush again and immediately felt the fool—it was a rather embarrassing thing to say.

“And you are in mine. But is there nothing else?”

He fell silent again, wanting to give the question serious thought. The answer, when he found it, was a little overwhelming in its simplicity.

“I want to help people,” he said. A sheepish smile came unbidden to his face. “I sound like Cole now.”

A faint smile tugged at Solas’s lips, but he said nothing in response.

Alin sighed and brought one hand up behind his head, gazing up at the sky again.

“I do,” he continued. “I want to help people. It’s the only thing I liked about being in the inquisition. I didn’t like the way everyone looked to me, as if I had all the answers. I never did. But I liked what we were doing. Helping those who needed it most…”

He trailed off for a moment, thinking back not just on their efforts before the war, but afterward, too. The way Josephine and Vivienne continued to try to keep the peace between the various noble families, not because they loved to play the so-called _Grand Game_ , but because their efforts would ultimately benefit those less fortunate.

It was the same all throughout Skyhold. Cullen and Blackwall and their work with the recruits, maintaining the inquisition’s lightened but still strong forces—not because they particularly enjoyed soldiering, but because a show of force was sometimes needed to protect the weak. Bull and his Chargers staying on and offering to help in anyway needed, Dorian and Sera doing the same. All of them. They all wanted to help, so that’s what they were doing, each in their own way.

Even Cole. Cole, who had left Skyhold, a place he now considered his home, to trail after a seemingly hopeless case of a person, just so he could at least _try_ to help.

“I’ve been so selfish,” he finally said.

“You have had much to bear these past few years,” Solas replied. “I think you are to be allowed a bit of selfishness here and there.”

But Alin just groaned and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I don’t want to think about any of this! I just want to lie here with you.” He lowered his hands, one arm resting on his belly, the other over his forehead, his eyes still closed. “If I’m going to be selfish, I may as well enjoy it.”

“Then let us lie here,” said Solas, and so they did. Alin lay with both hands under his head now, watching the clouds move above them, turning and twisting into various shapes. He accused Solas of doing it on purpose, but the older man only chuckled.

They kissed, and held one another again. The intimacy of his lover’s touch took his breath away, made him giddy with happiness. After a while, they stood and resumed exploring the surrounding forest. At first they kept along the cliff face, for Alin felt he couldn’t get enough of the heady scent that wafted up from the valley below. He pointed out a family of eagles, their cries to one another momentarily silencing the songbirds. Eventually, they drifted back into the forest, the trees taller and thicker here, muffling and softening what sunlight managed to trickle through. He found himself telling Solas of his life before—when he was only a young hunter, living and traveling with his clan. How happy his friends made him, yet how much he enjoyed those times when he would venture out alone, far from any civilized voices. He was never lonely, for he knew his clan was only a day’s hike in the other direction.

Before they knew it, night had begun to fall, stars now winking down at them from above the treetops. Alin was surprised—and yet _not_ surprised, when they came back to the little clearing where he had first awakened. His bow still lay near his belongings, the fire long since grown cold. His bedroll remained untouched, though the surrounding area lay covered with newly fallen leaves.

He stared at the bedroll, a cold feeling returning to his stomach.

“This is goodbye,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is only a dream, vhenan. But dreams can be revisited.”

Those words gave him comfort as he settled down on the bedroll. He was, indeed, tired. How could that be possible in the Fade? But he had no idea how much time they had passed here together.

Solas sat down beside him.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he said, his fingers stroking his hair.

Alin smiled. His eyes felt heavy, but he thought Solas looked sad.

“Ar lath ma,” he murmured.

His eyes closed for good this time, darkness enveloping his senses. _Dreams can be revisited._ Solas’s words were his last thoughts before sleep overtook him. They would see one another again.

* * *

_Translation of Dalish words and phrases:_

Ma vhenan'ara – My heart’s desire

Ma vhenan sulahn ma – My heart sings for you

da'vhenan – little heart


	4. I Will Wait

_I will wait for you_  
_I will wait for no one but you_

**Chapter 4**

_"Is he waking up? I thought I saw movement.”_

_"He’s still as a bloody log! It’s a bit creepy, really.”_

_"I distinctly saw his fingers twitching—There! He did it again.”_

_"Then he_ is _waking up.”_

Alin’s eyes opened slowly, blinking up at the harsh midday sun before immediately squinting. He breathed in deeply, bringing one hand up to shield his eyes, his other hand helping him to sit up. But his body felt stiff, his muscles aching from lack of use.

“The barrier! It’s down!”

He couldn’t help the little cry of shock that escaped him, as he was abruptly surrounded, the suddenness of movement startling his sleep-addled mind.

“Are you unharmed?” asked Cassandra, her brow knit with concern.

“Can you speak?” asked Sera. “Say something already!”

He frowned and scratched through his rumpled hair. “What do you want me to say?”

The mixed sighs of relief and annoyed scoffs this answer earned him left him momentarily puzzled, but not as puzzled by the abrupt realization that _all his friends were suddenly here._

Well, not all of them. Just Sera, Cassandra, Blackwall, Dorian, Varric—and, of course, Cole, hovering just behind the others, a vaguely uncertain look on his face.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked.

“Do you hear that?” said that Varric. “He actually has the nerve to sound annoyed!”

That made everyone laugh, even Cassandra. To Alin’s ears, the sound was tinged with relief. He finally began to understand that they were—or had been—very worried about him.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It’s all thanks to the kid here,” Varric said, indicating Cole. “We’d been tracking you for a while now, but you had quite the head start, and the trail had gone cold.”

Alin blinked. “You were tracking me? Why?”

“We were worried about you,” said Cassandra, actually reaching out and resting a hand on his shoulder.

He fumbled for something to say. “But—”

“Tell him, Kid,” said Varric.

Cole shifted forward eagerly, as if he’d only been waiting for an invitation to come forward.

“You were asleep,” he said. “You wouldn’t wake up. And you had this thing around you. I didn’t know what it was. I could pass through it, but it felt like part of me was left behind.”

“A barrier,” said Dorian. “Obviously erected to keep you safe.”

“But you’re not a mage,” said Blackwall. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Solas…” said Alin. He felt a smile coming to his face, his heart beating a little bit faster.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked.

Cole’s face scrunched up in thought. “Well… it took me three days to find them. Then three days to come back here.”

Alin sat up straight. “Six days?!” He gaped at Cole. “I was asleep for six days?!”

“I don’t know how it is possible,” said Cassandra, frowning, “But you at least appear to be unharmed. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” he admitted. “A little hungry, but… six days?”

He looked at them all, finding it too hard to believe. Perhaps the distance between them made it difficult for Solas to control the amount of time they’d spent in the Fade. Then again, he remembered finding it difficult to tell how much time had actually passed while they were walking together. How long had they lain together above the valley? A few minutes? Hours?

Days?

“So… this was Solas’s doing.”

The suspicion in Cassandra’s voice brought him back to the present. He looked up at her, placing his hand over the one resting on his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said. “I think so. But don’t be upset. He was protecting me. And… I was with him.”

The smile that came to his face must have been something because all of his friends shared knowing looks. Dorian in particular looked equal parts pleased and amused.

“Had a nice romantic encounter in the Fade, did we?” he asked, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

“Ugh. Creepy…!” said Sera, shuddering ever so slightly.

“It wasn’t creepy,” he said, smiling at her. “It was… beautiful. It was this place, only different. The sunlight was softer. There were more animals, and there was this river, and a waterfall. And a beautiful valley…”

“Created all of that, just for you?” said Dorian with a smile. “My, he must think you _quite_ special.”

Alin coughed and looked down, another smile coming to his face.

“ _Any_ way,” came Blackwall’s rumbly interruption, “If you’re feeling all right, then we’d best be heading back. No sense standing about in some forest when there’s still work to be done back at Skyhold.”

“But…” Alin looked at them all, feeling confused. “Why would I go back to Skyhold? I’ve only just left.”

Sera scoffed. “Are you still going on about that? Look, _that one_ over there told us you weren’t even heading to Wycome,” she said, nodding at Cole. “You’re just wandering around the forest, hoping to get lost. Well, now you have, and now we’ve found you again. So it’s time to come back home already!”

“I’m not sure I agree with the delivery,” Cassandra said, “But I concur with the sentiment.” She straightened, standing, and offered him her hand. “Come. We are _all_ needed back at Skyhold. And the sooner we return, the better.”

He looked up at her, then at all the others. Each speared him with an expectant look. Dorian arched an eyebrow at him, while Blackwall crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin a little. Cole even offered him a tiny smile.

“All right,” he sighed, reaching for Cassandra’s hand and standing—carefully, his muscles still trying to remember how to work. “If that’s how it’s going to be.”

“Yes!!” Sera jumped up and down a few times, both fists in the air. “Knew you’d come round eventually!”

He couldn’t help the tiny snort that escaped him. “You did, did you?”

“We all did,” said Varric, and the calmness and assuredness with which he said it brought an unexpected warmth to Alin’s cheeks.

I really don’t deserve them, he thought, as he watched them all bustling about his little camp, packing his things and loading their horses.

“Where’s that great big cow of yours?” asked Sera. “Run off on you, did it?”

“What, the hart?” He looked around in faint surprise. “I’m not sure. It can’t have gone far.” Suddenly he felt guilty, responsible for the well-being of this creature as he was, and here it had been abandoned for nearly a week.

“Could we spare some time to look for it?” he asked, turning to Cassandra.

“Of course,” she said. Her smile was warm, and again he felt himself blush. These people, he realized, as they paired off and began to search the immediate area, they were too good to him. What had he ever done to inspire such affection and devotion?

But surely I would do the same for each of them, he thought. And it was true; he would. He _had_. Each of them had come to him, at one point or another, and bared their soul to some extent, even asked things of him, things he was always willing to do. Because they were his friends. He may no longer have a clan, but he had a family now, and he had been foolish to think that didn’t matter.

The hart was eventually located, grazing near a small pond, its fur all covered in burs. Its grandparents may have been wild, but it was not, and it called to them when it saw them, its tail flicking back and forth in excitement. It would be even happier, he expected, once it was back at Skyhold and enjoying warm mash for supper every evening.

The trip back was uneventful—and oh so much shorter. He requested that they continue to avoid any towns and villages, but even so, they arrived back at Skyhold in less than two weeks. His aimless wandering must have taken him in circles and back again.

“It did feel good,” he admitted to Cassandra as they began to make the steep climb up to Skyhold. “Being by myself for a while.”

“But you were not alone,” she said, stepping carefully around the crumbling rock face. “It seems Cole was with you the entire time.”

He snorted softly, smiling. “Yes. But I didn’t realize it for some time. When I thought I was alone, I was… I don’t want to say happy. But I suppose I was at peace.”

“It can be difficult to find time for one self at Skyhold,” she agreed.

“Yes,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely what he meant, and he wasn’t sure how to explain it.

She smiled. “I understand. But—Alin. Please don’t do that to us again. We care for you too much.”

It was rare that she addressed him by his first name. Something inside him told him that it was she who had organized the others, insisted on going after him. They must have wasted little time once she’d returned to Skyhold. And something also told him that by “we” she really meant to refer to herself.

“I promise,” he said, ducking his head a little, feeling a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “I won’t. But at least if I do,” he added, feigning an afterthought, “You’ll know I won’t _really_ be alone. Maybe you should train a raven to sit on Cole’s hat. That way you’ll always be able to keep track of me.”

This earned him a rare laugh, such that the others trailing behind them wanted to know what it was he had said.

The air was warmer now, and not so heavy with wind and snow. Crossing the bridge to Skyhold was uneventful, the clear skies above beckoning him home. The gates were opened, many of the soldiers and merchants and various hangers-on cheering when they saw him. He smiled and looked down, one hand holding the hart’s bridle, the other resisting the urge to pull his hood up over his head.

Josephine hugged him. Then _Vivienne_ hugged him. He must have looked shocked beyond belief, because the next thing he knew, ALL his friends were hugging him, first Dorian, then Cullen, then Sera—he knew they were doing it just to tease him. The worst was Bull, who literally lifted him off his feet, the very breath from his body feeling as if it would never return after suffering through the man’s bone-crushing embrace. Much more pleasant was the half-hug, half-shoulder slap from Krem, whose knowing eyes twinkled down at him.

Next came the hastily planned feast. His appetite surprised him by returning, but his shrunken stomach began protesting all too soon. Whatever rare spirits were left in the cellar after the post-Corypheus celebration were brought up and broken open. Not surprisingly, Bull and Blackwall led the charge to see who could consume the most without passing out. The Chargers were starting to become so unruly that Josephine had begun hesitantly suggesting that they move the gathering outside, but no one was listening to her.

When he felt like he could stand up without either throwing up or passing out, Alin finally did so. Some probably thought he was heading for the privy, so no one bothered to call out to him. That was just as well to him; he was grateful for their kindness, but being the focus of everyone’s attention had always been wearying for him. Even so, his heart was full rather than heavy as he made his way to his tiny cell-like bedchamber.

Cassandra had informed him earlier that despite the change in weather, many had elected to stay in the newly repaired hallway. But he’d already decided privately that he would be removing back to his old quarters. Josephine would be pleased to hear it, he knew.

After spending weeks with just a bedroll between himself and the ground, collapsing onto his bed felt like fainting onto a cloud. He closed his eyes, willing himself to at least remove his boots. Instead, he curled his arms up underneath his pillow and burrowed deeper into the softness.

He felt the warm embrace of sleep slowly pressing into him. Would his lover be waiting for him when he woke?

He didn’t know. The sounds from without began to fade, his body growing heavy. He felt his breath even out.

He was home.

 

_Finis~_

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Find me on tumblr! (•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→ http://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/ I love meeting new people!

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have three chapters + an epilogue! I plan to release a chapter a week. I'm already ahead of schedule, so hopefully all will go as planned! Thanks for reading ^^
> 
> The title, chapter titles, and song lyrics are from "Lover Lay Down" by Dave Matthews


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